


More Sane Than Anything Else

by asuralucier



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Consensual Power Imbalance, Edward Elric is legal, M/M, Painslut!Edward Elric, Rough Sex, Roy has interesting ideas about sex, SmutSwap 2019 Treat, probably pwp, wobbly sex alchemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: Hawkeye glances at him so sideways that Roy almost thinks she might snap her neck, “And you’re volunteering, are you? Your magical cock that will miraculously prevent him from landing in hospital again ever.”Roy shrugs, “Maybe? Much obliged.”Ed hurts himself an inordinate amount. Roy (naturally) thinks he needs to get laid and proffers a solution.





	More Sane Than Anything Else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/gifts).



> Painslut!Ed is now my favorite. I hope you enjoy!

Roy Mustang loses his virginity when he’s twenty. It’s been a while since he’d been twenty. Who or why or even the how seems to have faded away deep in the recesses of more recent conquests. Roy is rather a great believer, but less so a proponent of regular sexual activity. He himself indulges, but he never loses sight of what is important. And besides, he’s bigheaded enough to think (no, to _know_ ), that he is unlike the people around him. It’s not so much a bigheaded assumption if it’s simply...true. 

Roy makes the mistake of confessing this to Riza Hawkeye once after a couple of drinks. At first the conversation is normal enough, in as much as things can be normal around all the crazy things happening at Central. At the top of the list, is the usual churning of the gossip mill about the ins and outs of Edward Elric’s latest stint in the military infirmary. Edward and the hospital have always been bosom buddies, but ever since Edward's twentieth birthday, which he’d spent also in hospital and slightly unconscious, things have been getting worse. 

“I think he needs to get laid,” Roy says. “Like properly laid.” 

Hawkeye glances at him so sideways that Roy almost thinks she might snap her neck, “And you’re volunteering, are you? You and your magical cock that will miraculously prevent him from landing in hospital again ever.” 

Roy shrugs, “Maybe? Much obliged.”

“Fuck you, sir, with all due respect.” 

Roy tips the remnants of his drink towards her before he downs it in one smooth swallow, “I’m serious. The longer Fullmetal is out of commission because of something else stupid he does in his off-hours, the more our funding takes a hit.” 

“So this is about _funding_ ,” Hawkeye quirks a knowing eyebrow as she waves down the barkeep for a refill. “And you’re not doing this because you just want to get laid yourself.” 

“I guess that helps,” Roy shrugs, feeling an annoyed, but also a heated coil untwist itself somewhere down south. It does him no good to think about it now, since he’s still sort of on duty.

 

The next day, Roy goes to see Edward Elric at the hospital and he kicks everyone out of the room including Alphonse, who is fretting after his brother as usual. It’s easy enough to do and it’s not as if he’s asked something unreasonable. When they are alone, Edward still doesn’t look at him. 

“You gonna yell at me again, Colonel?” 

“I,” Roy pauses, “That makes it sound like I do it all the time.” 

“Well yeah, you sort of do,” Edward glances at him now, mouth attractively askew, even with a purple bruise still blooming at the edge of his jaw. “How can you be such a _stupid_ idiot, Fullmetal.” 

“That is not what I sound like.” 

“That is so what you sound like.” 

Roy flops down on the chair that Alphonse had previously occupied and stares straight at Edward again. Eventually, he wears Edward down and Edward averts his eyes again. 

“What’s wrong with me?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Edward worries the edge of his lower lip until Roy can spot the small rivulet of blood running down his split lip. Without thinking about it, he touches the spot with his thumb and Edward winces though he does not pull away. 

“That. That’s wrong with me. I can’t explain it.” 

“You don’t have to,” Roy tells him. “You’re missing half of your body and who the hell knows what else in here.” He taps his temple, “If that sort of thing helps then, it helps. I just wish you were more careful about it. Tell you what. Once they let you out, come find me.” 

 

 _Once they let you out, come find me._ Edward holds that thought in his head, like some some of weird bastion against the strangeness of everything else, and when he’s discharged, he goes and finds Roy. Of course, he has no way of knowing whether Roy will be home. The guy’s a workaholic. But Edward knows where Roy lives and oddly, where Roy keeps his spare key, buried shallowly in a potted plant hanging beside the door. 

Roy’s apartment is always surprising to Edward. The way everybody talks about Colonel Mustang and his habits, you’d think his personal quarters would be a monument to excess. But no, Roy’s quarters are neat, organized, probably more a testament to the fact that the man is never home. 

“Quit going through my stuff,” a voice says behind him and Edward jumps. 

“You said come find you,” Edward turns, after he’s given himself a moment to recover. Roy is standing there in the doorway, taking off his boots. 

“I did,” Roy says, removing his gloves and putting them away. “I meant what I said in the hospital, Ed. You should be more careful in the way you choose to get hurt. Stupid fights, brawls. None of that. Not anymore.” 

“Where do you get off telling me what to do?” Edward glowers, but he’s not going to lie, there’s that glint that’s now entrenched in his bones, that wakes up. And it’s weird because it’s Roy and not some random goon, which takes away some of the things and adds others. He swallows, as Roy approaches him and touches the side of his face, presses his fingers into the bruise that’s still healing. “Colonel --” 

“I can at least think of four different ways. Maybe five,” Roy leans close, a heated spark next to Edward’s ear, like someone has struck a match and the fire is _live_ , itching to go places. “I can get creative, Edward Elric, trust me.” 

 

The thing about fighting, wanting somebody to hurt him so that Edward can feel something that’s not the cool mechanics of the automail of his specially made arm and leg, is that it always ended. The thing about seeking thrills from a populace that is normal meant that he doesn’t get his fix. Edward thinks he knows that now. 

“And stop calling me Colonel,” Roy’s voice sounds, somewhere beyond the delicious delirious fog of Edward’s consciousness. "It weirds me out."

Roy’s not kidding about getting creative. Edward’s not sure how he’s done it exactly, but he is sure it must be alchemy. Usually, Edward likes knowing the ins and outs; he’s always been the curious kind, after all but this can wait. He might even deign to pay Roy a compliment later because okay, this isn't what he'd been expecting, but it certainly hits the spot. It is like Roy’s hand on his shoulder has affected his entire bloodstream, as if he’s melted the veins beneath Edward’s skin into fire. And that fire gives. Gives unrelenting pain no matter how Edward moves, and it’s --

“Jesus, fuck,” Edward groans. 

“I guess that’s better.” Roy says. “You could try my name, Roy Mustang. In case you've forgotten.” 

Edward is in an exquisite amount of pain. It’s nothing like the cheap stuff he has been left with and subjecting himself to. He thinks he might easily become addicted to this sort of thing, but maybe that’s what Roy is banking on and even though Edward hates being so fucking _obvious_ , at this point, he can’t help but be that. 

And it isn’t until Roy presses harder into his shoulder and thrusts -- up until this point, Edward has been blind to anything but the singularity of the pain shooting through every synapse in his body, the pain becomes much _more_ somehow, swirling itself around a seed of something glorious. Something that runs counterproductive to pain, but somehow that makes pain better too, and Edward thinks he might faint.

“You like that, don’t you?” And this time, Roy’s voice near his ear isn’t just the promise of a struck match but a full-blown flame and a shiver goes down Edward’s spine and rests right at the tip of his erection, which twitches hopefully at the promise of --

“There’s more. Do you want it?” The words worm into his skin and into his veins.

“There’s,” Edward cranes his head back and amidst all of the heady thudding of his blood, he’s pretty sure Roy’s just kissed him. It’s not a bad thing. Edward just doesn’t have the headspace to devote to it right now. That’s for later. Right now, he's focused on bigger and better things. Not that Roy is big, but oh, who the fuck is Edward kidding, he is, “ -- More.” 

“Sorry, what's that? Didn’t hear you.” 

Roy Mustang is an out and out asshole. But maybe that’s one of Edward’s favorite things about him. A thing that he will never admit out loud (at least not yet). If this continues, Edward thinks he might admit to a lot of things. He reaches to clamp his automail fingers around Roy’s wrist, where the other man’s hand is gripping at Edward’s hip. Edward pushes back into Roy and is glad, to hear a low grunt spill out of Roy, as if the man wasn’t expecting it, “I want _more_ , Roy Mustang you fuck.” 

Roy, in a word, doesn’t exactly disappoint. 

 

Roy thinks that this is much better. This is Edward Elric sprawled out naked on his floor without a mark on him other than what had been healing, before. He isn’t usually the type to fish for compliments, but he’d like to think that he’s given Edward a pretty good run for his money. Edward has left a fresh smear on Roy's couch, but that’s easily fixed. 

“Wasn’t that much better than a fight?” Roy settles a hand on Edward’s sweat-matted hair. “It’s certainly more sane than anything you’ve been doing.” 

“More sane,” Edward mutters, idly leaning into the touch, “Yeah right.” But he’s not too angry about it. Not at all.


End file.
